


An Acceptable Defeat

by CherryJacks



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: X & Y | Pokemon X & Y Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Hand Jobs, Inappropriate Sexual Timing, Light Dom/sub, Lysandre is Thirsty, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Too Much Plot For Porn, Top Sycamore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryJacks/pseuds/CherryJacks
Summary: Professor Sycamore has had enough! He'll deal with Lysandre himself and stop his plans from growing more dangerous.“Well, I must say professor I’m surprised that you chose to stop me. However, I can’t say I’m the least bit disappointed.”





	An Acceptable Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my way of getting back into a writing groove. This is very self-indulgent.

_~*~_

     He could almost say he caught the Team Flare Leader with his pants down, but that wouldn't have been accurate. Though, he did catch him off guard and that couldn't be argued. Deep, deep underground, under the romantically lit cafe and hidden away from those that would be foolish to try to invade. That was where Professor Sycamore found Lysandre. Not quite finished with his daily routine of preening his appearance, but to the Professor he liked it more that way and it seemed oddly fitting. His hair was limp and loose around his face, not styled high into an intimidating mane he used to add to his already impressive height. His jacket was waiting, hanging, off the back of a stitched leather chair pushed tight against his desk. Polished shoes were neatly tucked underneath.

It was an office after all, an office with all the comforts of home and that fact Sycamore was sure Lysandre used to his advantage. There was no doubt in his mind that the space lead to a joining bedroom, master bath, perhaps even a kitchen area if Lysandre cared enough to cook for himself.  He could hide away from the world above while he cursed it in his anger, all while being blind to all the good that people tried to do on a daily basis. He could spend all the time he needed toiling away at his plans for the future, all plans that Sycamore was sick to think they might come to be if his next actions were not successful.

The very next thing that Sycamore's eyes settled on was the untied cravat left to rest on Lysandre's shoulders and the loose buttons on his dress shirt that exposed the thinnest line of pale flesh. It was amusing somewhat to see Lysandre far more unkempt than he would ever allow himself to be seen. Even keeping such secret chambers did nothing to shield him away and it did very little to keep Sycamore from finding where he hid. Not that it was much of a hiding place from the Professor. Lysandre seemed vehemently against being subtle with him. On more than one occasion even inviting him down to the lab below the cafe with the thin veil that he wanted to share with him his newest holo caster model. Professor Sycamore wasn't a fool, he saw the staff members dart away as he followed behind Lysandre, he saw their uniforms and heard their whispered words of confusion between them. Despite all that however, appearing uninvited was sure to stir something in the other man.

Although, and Sycamore found himself raising an eyebrow in response, Lysandre didn't seem the least bit surprised by his company. In fact he could almost say that the man was thrilled to be cornered as it were.

"Should I read your presence as something confrontational? Or am I misinterpreting your rigid stance?" His lips quirked into a small smile after he spoke and by that tiny action Sycamore found himself growing with agitation.

"You know damn well why I'm here!" He shouted, all the moments he held his tongue before broke free from where he had buried them. His voice echoed around the room and if not for the firmly closed door behind him, might have reverberated down the hall. Possibly loud enough to alert Lysandre's own Team Flare Grunts if Sycamore hadn't already dealt with them in his path. His hand hovered dangerously over the first member of his team.  They were well warmed up for combat and Sycamore would be lying to himself if he claimed he didn't want to have the chance to battle. Especially if such a battle could cause the end of his dear companion's harmful actions. Though his reasoning was more fueled by a newfound anger than out of concern as it once was. Now, despite his feelings causing him to be clouded for so long over Lysandre, he wasn't about to let the man talk his way out of it.

A battle was what they would have and yet as that was made quite clear Lysandre's face didn't shift from his vaguely amused appearance. He simply bowed his head as though silently asking if he was allowed the chance to approach his desk to gather supplies. Sycamore permitted, but kept his hand now firmly over his first chosen pokemon's capsule.

He sauntered across the room, not sliding on his shoeless feet like Sycamore would have been tempted if he was wearing but his socks on such obsessively waxed tile. His shoulders stretched and tightened the fabric of his perfectly tailored top as he took his sweet time clipping each member of his own team to his belt. This pace continued while fingerless gloves were slipped onto his hands and pulled tight and while unlocking a compartment on his desk to reveal his keystone ring he had hidden inside. Once that was lovingly returned to his hand Sycamore's impatience made itself known, "Enough Lysandre! You have everything you need to battle. Don't stall any longer!" The force of his words came easier than he thought they would, but he didn't let any surprise show. Truly, there was less surprise than one might have expected from the Professor. After already making his skill in battle known to any grunt that wised up to his intentions in the cafe, his courage was holding fast and driving him further than he originally hoped it would.

For a moment Lysandre let his face morph into a frown as he faced his opponent. _Opponent_ , not anything more than that for now. Of course once the battle ended and victory was obtained, of which Lysandre was sure he would be victorious, then other titles could be returned between them.

"Well, I must say professor I'm surprised you chose to stop me. However, I can't say I'm the least bit disappointed." It was clear in each and every way in which Lysandre presented himself, the confidence of his stance and the look of certainty on his face, that he was excited for the chance to prove his own skill. The chance to prove he had the power to execute his plans for a world pure from greed and filth. It was as clear as the glass crystal that the pair shared bubbly champagne together in on the day the cafe opened to the public. If Sycamore was told in that very moment that he would be sharing more than just drinks and romance with Lysandre at that place, he might have laughed it off and scolded such an unkind joke. The reality was proving to be much less kind.

"This won't end how you hope!" Sycamore called. He knew that if onlookers saw them now that many would bet against his victory. Even with Lysandre not being completely pulled together to his pinnacle standards he placed on himself daily, he was well trained in appearing like the most powerful man in the room. Who was Sycamore but a researcher? A man once driven to beg for sponsors at his laboratory and hope that his findings would finally be enough to garner attention for his and his employees hard work. Because sometimes, and this was a fact that bothered him still, trying to educate the world was not profitable enough to bother with too many potential sponsors revealed to him. So he was grateful to Lysandre for his generosity, his friendship, his romantic pursuits that were highly inappropriate given the state of their business relationship. Oh but, that was too often ignored because Sycamore for the longest time hadn't considered that anything negative could come from such a partnership.

"All I hope is that when I'm victorious you'll give me the chance to show you that my plan is needed." Lysandre replied, he was sincere and that was perhaps what made the whole situation the most frightening.

Sycamore couldn't allow any more words between them now. As much as he loved their chats and debates, loved that way Lysandre spoke each and every word as though he crafted them from rich coffee sweetened at times with delightful vanilla bean cream. He had to resist. His voice could warm and envelop and hypnotize if needed, and Sycamore was guilty of being quite receptive to such things. He wanted that warmth even now, but he found Lysandre's voice to be less sweet. He wasn't speaking any longer to his dearest, his amour, the man he shared many days and nights drinking in his passions and always craving more. The man standing before him now was the Leader of Team Flare, a group Sycamore came to know as Kalos' newest danger. Though it was more than that if he didn't act, the whole world would be in danger if Lysandre was left to grow in power.

With his back practically touching the heavy door he entered from, to make room in the office for the battle that would no doubt ruin its glossy excellence, he threw out his first partner. The growl that left the maw of his impressive Charizard erupted once the beast materialized before both men. Sharp eyes targeted the Flare Leader and even though Charizard knew Lysandre from his many laboratory visits, there was no hesitation from the creature in the slightest. Even if Sycamore was in denial for far too long, almost too long, his pokemon did not share that same trait.

Lysandre's eyes were vivid with enthusiasm and with pokeball clutched in hand he spoke, "It is almost unfair that you cannot use mega evolution my dear Professor, I will not be holding back however. It is simply the nature of our battle."

With a glow of light from his released capsule, Pyroar roared out to greet Charizard. It would seem, Sycamore wagered, that Lysandre would save his Gyarados for last. All the same to him, mega evolution or no, he would not be so easily dismissed.  

~*~

Against the hard red-papered corner Lysandre's body slumped, legs limp, and arms equally so. He returned his fainted Gyarados that had since reverted back from its mega form and simply let its pokeball roll away from his reach. He was defeated and despite the Professor having not the ability to match him in mega evolution, it seemed only correct that he would still taste defeat from the man who spend his life studying it.

Instinctually, Sycamore ran towards his once-opponent after his own pokemon was called back to his side. He praised his Venusaur quickly, brushing his palm against one its massive flower petals in thanks for all their hard work before they returned safely. Facing off against a mega Gyarados was no small feat and his whole team was due a good rest. With the battle now finally behind him, he felt nothing but fear that the other man was now somehow injured. Did the physical demands of mega evolution take a toll on him? He might have deserved it of course, no he certainly deserved it, but Sycamore still knelt near and hovered a hesitant hand over Lysandre's shoulder. Even though the man proved to be more than willing to use the very skill that Sycamore helped him perfect for nefarious means, he still couldn't help but distress that such a skill had harmed him.

 That spell was broken once Lysandre's head leaned back and pressed against the corner of the wall as he broke out into a laugh. It was joyous, elated, almost mad really, and sounded absolutely full of relief. He met the Professor's eyes with full glee of the events that just took place. His defeat brought nothing but endless pleasure in that moment and that was not sitting comfortably with his companion. In fact, it was frustratingly puzzling. "Marvelous," Lysandre breathed, he was a bit winded from the battle which only seemed to make him more elated, "I had hoped you were stronger than you claimed, I knew you were a chosen one-"

"Is this a joke to you!?" Sycamore said with disgust, he rose to his feet and loomed over the other man. It wasn't something that he could often do and the reversed role was honestly empowering, but that wasn't his immediate focus.  His immediate focus was on the man of which while he loved greatly, he found himself growing disgusted my his reaction to the entire meeting, "If I hadn't come here to face you, you would have gone through with that awful plan of yours!" His tone was angry, but there was something else laced in his words.

Pain.

"This is over! Shut it all down or I'll... I'll..." His words faded off and he hoped his hesitation would not be confused as weakness. He would what exactly? Turn him in? Have him thrown in prison for his planned acts? All were reasonable actions, but all were things he didn't want to _actually_ be forced to do. So in place of those things he hoped his stance would be enough, that Lysandre would cease on his own after seeing he could be brought down a peg. This, Sycamore hoped more than anything, would cause him to let go his ego and realize his "solution" for the world was ill-conceived.

Lysandre listened thoughtfully and after the silence grew long between them he chose to break it, "How can I bring my plans into fruition if I am weak?" Even though he knew Sycamore would hate that his words did not entail him admitting that his plans were wrong, he continued, "We are both chosen ones, whether you choose to accept that fact or not, and you proved that you were more powerful than I. If it is your wish for me to throw everything I worked for away then how can I resist you?"

Just as Lysandre already guessed, Sycamore was indeed less than pleased with his words. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair, messing up his carefully set waves in favor of something more wild than usual. His shoes clicked against the hard tile while he paced across it and nervous eyes glanced around at each and every scratch and scruff formed from their fight that ruined the mirrored surface. The face that reflected back at him, awash in red and almost scarred in appearance from the imperfections of the tile, was set deep with frustration. He could though, if not for just a moment, allow himself a bit of celebration. He was the victor and even if Lysandre would refuse to accept that his plans were wrong, he was now given the authority to shut everything down. Lysandre if anything was at least honorable enough for that.

"You are missing the point, Lysandre. Besides," Sycamore made sure Lysandre was giving him nothing but his full attention before he spoke further, "You have shown me that you are deceitful and you lie, your words are meaningless. How can I possibly trust that you will end Team Flare and leave all your vile plans behind you?"

Lysandre shifted himself where he sat on the cold floor, but let his body slump again weakly. Though his weakness was not entirely from battle fatigue. While he was indeed watching the Professor very thoroughly, he also appeared distracted by a plethora of other thoughts buzzing around in his head. The excitement of it all was too much for him really and in that moment, him gazing upon his dear Augustine was nearly overwhelming. He knew he was monstrous and awful for a multitude of things, even he could see as such and admit those sins.

Such sins often plagued his dreams and were left unknown to all but his most trusted around him, such a list shorter and shorter as his plans continued to form. Who was he to claim such a man for himself as he planned the end of his very livelihood? All for the promise that the future would benefit from that sacrifice. What kind of man was he to greedily keep him even with that knowledge and wish to bring him into his new world where they would be together always? He was so accustomed to Sycamore bowing to his every whim that he grew to expect it, and it wasn't until that moment that he knew he took that assumption for granted. He forgot to consider how much more wonderful it would be if he submitted to the Professor's wishes instead.

 Team Flare and his emotions regarding his plans aside, he now realized just how much he wanted the man to defeat him and show him that he wasn't as powerful as he always claimed to be. How funny that the man who always praised him for his abilities always held the power to crush him if needed. And it was indeed needed if he was honest with himself. Had he not become a distorted version of his previous ideals? How could Lysandre really expect that Sycamore would stand by and watch him plan to destroy everything he knew in his life without some form of intervention. The fact of the matter was that he gave Sycamore the knowledge and time to stop him because some part of him deep down hoped he would. Was it fear and hesitation over his such extremely fatal plans that drove this? It wasn't something he could explore just yet, not when he was feeling so much relief. Now that the quiet dream was realized  Lysandre couldn't help himself, it felt so damn good to have Sycamore come off on top.

Silky sweet his voice returned, "How can I prove it to you then, mon amour?" His teeth slightly scraped at his bottom lip just so, a well thought out maneuver and each word just as carefully crafted to make his current, possibly shameful, thoughts known, "It is just as I said. I am too weak, as you have shown me, to go through with my plans so I am forced to honor your request. All you must do is command me." His eyes were practically pleading for Sycamore to approach him, something he dared not ask for. No, that was a privilege reserved for the victor. He could only hope, and possibly even beg if it came to it, that Sycamore would gift him with any touches. More of a longing wish considering he knew damn well how little he deserved it after everything he put the man through. However, he pressed on and made himself all the more clear, "Augustine if I may say, I have never been more attracted to you since this moment. This side of you is rather intoxicating."

Only briefly did the Professor look taken aback by the frank statement, but he was quick to respond, "How can you be so inappropriate at a time like this?" The Professor narrowed his gaze at how perfectly sinful Lysandre let himself appear. Long legs moved further apart, pants riding up on his knees to reveal his sock garters, and his damned eyes screamed for Sycamore's body to press against him, "I'm disgusted by you I hope you know." That was a partial lie.

"Good," Lysandre returned, "I deserve that, but please let me give you something." In a tone foreign to the Professor he heard it, a plea, "At least in my shame allow me the chance to try to make up for my actions," He paused only to shift his body again uncomfortably, a discomfort he strangely enjoyed for the simple feeling of punishment it gave him. He could rise to his feet if he so chose, but no. Instead it was better to strain his body against an unforgiving floor, allowing the Professor to stare down at him in his current state, "At least consider this my disgraceful attempt."

As though he considered, Sycamore slowly stepped across the space he left between them. Letting himself settle with Lysandre's legs framing his feet on either side of him. He only continued to stare down at the man however, his gaze judgmental as it should have been. He watched him shift further from his strained body, and only spoke to scold when Lysandre reached up to touch him, "Place your hands up on the walls. You won't touch me unless I tell you too."

Lysandre was eager to obey, especially if he was given the chance to show his desires, and his hands were placed firmly on either wall. Then he waited, very willing, for whatever the Professor would ask of him. Sycamore continued to consider and any battle he might have been waging in his mind went without voice. Instead he let some strands of Lysandre's loose hair tangle around his fingers as he leaned closer and soon his nails dug into his scalp only to scratch and grip and entice eager sounds from the taller man left so very vulnerable to the Professor. Almost too softly for Lysandre's wishes, Sycamore brushed his fingers over soft lips and let his other hand trail lovingly over his jaw. Playfully in a way he gripped and tugged at Lysandre's soft beard, only pulling just enough to cause the man to grunt in response. He did this all while he continued to ponder, continued to reason with himself if such actions should be indulged.

"Please." He heard Lysandre beg and Sycamore only hushed him, "Don't speak."

With that Sycamore was committed and with one hand continuing to softly tug and stroke at thick facial hair,  the other worked at his belt. He only pulled his hand away when one hand proved not to be sufficient, he couldn't claim to be well practiced with undoing his pants one handed. Lysandre just waited obediently, but it was hard for him to hide his own arousal. Sycamore was well aware and found himself smirking at how his bulge strained in his slacks, "That will have to wait now won't it?" When he got a quiet nod in response he praised, "Good."

He freed his cock from the confines of his pants and undergarments and while he was much more soft than hard, that was sure to change. The stress of the day was not proving beneficial to his sexual desires, but the view of Lysandre below him ready to please was quick to flush his body in growing heat. It wasn't the first time he had the pleasure of Lysandre's mouth taking in his arousal and by the looks of how much Lysandre seemed to crave it, it wasn't planned to be the last. Sycamore hadn't quite prepared himself to just how sensitive he might have been. His emotions were already running far too hot and once he felt Lysandre's tongue swirl around the head of his dick, his nerves flared alive. All he could do to keep his sounds to a minimum was nip at the insides of his cheek with his teeth, but that was hardly sufficient. His hands combed through Lysandre's long hair and with gentle nudges, urged the man to take him in more. Sycamore's eyes couldn't hide away for too long and the sight of Lysandre's lips tight around his base was euphoric.

"Touch me." He commanded and he guided Lysandre's hands to grip his hips while he worked. There was only so much that could remain muffled on Sycamore's tongue when Lysandre's own swirled pathways up and down his cock so eagerly. Moans filled his mouth, releasing like music to Lysandre's ears. Serving quite wonderfully to fuel his movements. Sycamore's legs wanted to quit, wanted to meet the floor with Lysandre under him. Oh it was so tempting of a thought too, he could just continue to fuck that perfect face until he spilled over. His legs persisted however, hips moving to their own rhythm. Lysandre met him with each thrust, he pulled Sycamore's body closer just so he could bring each and every bit of his length into his mouth and throat. Each swallow he felt squeeze him send shocks through his body.

"I want to see." Sycamore groaned, placing his touch against Lysandre's cheek, "Pull yourself out for me. I want to see how hard this is all getting you."

If Lysandre's face wasn't already aglow with color Sycamore would have noticed it as it flushed further. Embarrassment? That wasn't quite the right feeling. If anything the very suggestion to expose himself further all the while proving just how much he loved the way Sycamore commanded his actions was only making his girth strain more in his pants. It was a relief to free it, more timely perhaps if he had focused fully on releasing his zipper. He craved Sycamore's taste too much to stop however and once he heard the Professor's pleasure-fueled  voice he couldn't help but moan in response around his length.

"Hmm, you are fantastically hard I see- _Ah!_ Don't touch yourself now, you have to wait."

Lysandre's moan is what signaled him, he knew he was growing close. He could feel it with each and every slide of the man's slick lips and twitch of his tongue teasing his flesh just the way he liked it. A fantastic explosion was nearing, one that he could hardly keep at bay and he honestly didn't wish to. The image was just too much for his over-stimulated mind and body. Lysandre's cock was flushed and heavy as it leaked against his black slacks, practically begging much like its owner to be touched and given release. Beautiful fiery hair was tangled and wrapped around Sycamore's fingers like a tether. Lysandre's own hands held firmly against the Professor's slim frame, gripping, pulling, stoking everything he could reach in a desperate frenzy. For at any moment he could be commanded to place his hands away and be barred from touching the man he wanted more than anything to be caressing.

With a small tug, just enough to make the scalp burn from the tension, Lysandre's bright eyes gazed up and meet Sycamore's own. The sight of Lysandre's gaze while his mouth was quite gagged was just what the Professor needed. Sycamore pulled back, bringing his own hand down to stoke himself to completion, not that he had to do much. He had hardly the time to palm his own cock and command Lysandre to keep his mouth open before he came in quite a wave. Ribbons shot and missed his mark, but the effect was more lovely in the end. In between pants Sycamore admired his handy work. A fantastic mess decorated Lysandre's bottom lip and beard, his chest wasn't spared either his orgasm. The Flare Leader was now perfectly ruined, in the best of ways. His own rosiness and grin only proved this to be true. Lysandre's own arousal still lay ignored and weeping. Then Sycamore knelt with a mischievous smile, his hand rubbing against Lysandre's dick until he coaxed more delicious sounds from deep in his chest. Then his hand tightened quick, almost too tight.

Gasps escaped the Flare Leader as the Professor pumped none too kindly and yet, he wasn't about to ask him to stop. Sycamore leaned in closer, their bodies barely hovering apart and his lips practically touching Lysandre's reddened ear, "I won't help you get off until you do as promised." With that his hand released, leaving it for a time that his partner earned his touches again, "Now clean yourself up, mon amour. I've made a mess of you."

Lysandre's breathing was deep and heavy. His whole body screamed for Sycamore to have mercy, but he knew it would not come. Not yet. He would have to earn it first.

"As you command, Augustine."

**Author's Note:**

> Lets also pretend these two actually discuss the horrors of what Lysandre's plan actual would have meant and that Lysandre does indeed learn his lesson.


End file.
